


The Wings That Fly Us Home

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison talked Paul into it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wings That Fly Us Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #10 under the pen name Angelica Cooper-Smith.

_"I knew you'd come around."_

 

"How many times do I have to say it, Blackwood.  No!"

          Harrison stayed on the colonel's heels as they entered the living room, the soldier heading straight for the hearth to lay a fire.  "But this is the perfect opportunity, Colonel."

          Ironhorse knelt down and grabbed the poker, briefly contemplating using it on the astrophysicist.  " _You_ call it an opportunity, _I_ call it a waste of time."

          Harrison huffed and dropped into one of the winged-backed chairs.  "You have no imagination, Paul.  No… sense of wonder."

          "I have good sense, Doctor.  That's all the sense I need."

          A snort.  "Admit it, Paul, you're scared."

          "I am _not_ scared."  Ironhorse lit the kindling, allowing it to catch before he added several smaller twigs and branches.

          "Yes.  You.  Are."

          The colonel sighed heavily, wishing Blackwood had something to do beside drive him crazy.  He could have gone to Disneyland for the weekend with Suzanne, Debi and their escort.  He could have tagged along with Norton and Norah and enjoyed the Jamaican festival in southern California.  He could have gone hiking in Tibet!  But, no, Harrison Blackwood had decided to stay at the Cottage and keep _him_ company…

          "No, I'm not," he growled.

          "Then indulge me."

          Ironhorse added a couple of larger logs and stood.  Hands on his hips, he glared down at the scientist.  "Harrison, I indulge you all the time.  But this is… stupid."  Harrison opened his mouth to argue, but Paul continued.  "And even if I _did_ believe in reincarnation, which I do, that doesn't mean that we should… stick our noses in where they aren't supposed to go!"

          Large blue eyes blinked in amazement.  "You believe in reincarnation?"

          Ironhorse's eyes rolled upward, and he mumbled under his breath.  Then, looking back to Blackwood, he addressed him like the six-year-old he was, explaining, "The Cherokee believe in reincarnation.  You live, you die, you come back."

          Harrison leaned forward, eyes shining with fueled curiosity.  "This is fascinating.  Do you have a concept of karma?"

          "No."

          "So how _do_ they conceptualize it?"

          "Doctor, most Cherokee are Catholics or Protestants now, and they believe in heaven and hell, but there are some Cherokee traditionalists who keep the older teachings alive."  He walked over to sit in the other chair.

"Like your grandfather?"

          "My grandfather was Blackfoot, but, yes, he did tell me about the older beliefs."

          "And?"

          Ironhorse sighed heavily.  "And I listened," he said.

          Blackwood cocked his heading, giving him a questioning look.

          "And I believe some of it."

          "Well, then, I don't see what the problem is," Harrison said, pulling the cassette tape out of his pocket and waving it at Ironhorse.  "Let's do the regression and see what we find out."

          "Harrison," the colonel said, as patiently as he could.  "I don't _want_ to know."

          "Why?"

          "Because it doesn't matter."

          "Yes, it does," Blackwood countered.  "Therapists have been using past life regressions more and more to help their patients, and—"

          "Are you telling me I need therapy?"

          "No, of course not.  I'm just saying that the validity of past life regressions has been growing in the scientific community, that's all."

          Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Ironhorse silently begging for Blackwood to be struck with sanity, freeing him from the inevitable.  He opened his eyes.  Harrison rattled the tape invitingly.  Grandfather wasn't listening.

          He lifted his hands, palms facing Harrison in a gesture of capitulation.  "All right, Doctor, you've worn me down."

          Harrison tossed the tape up, snatching it in his hand.  "I knew you'd come around.  Let's go.  My office—"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "No way.  If I'm going to do this, it's going to be in here, where I can stretch out on the couch and hopefully _sleep_ through it."

          Harrison came him a patented Blackwood I'm-displeased-with-you frown.  "It won't work if you sleep, Paul."

          The colonel grinned.  "Sue me."

          Harrison shook his head, but retrieved Debi's boom-box, setting it up on the floor.  Ironhorse slipped his shoes off and stretched out on the couch, yawning loudly.

          Blackwood slammed the tape in and shoved the door closed.  "Ready?"

          "Wake me up when it's over."

          Harrison lay down on the floor, pushed the play button, then rolled over and let himself relax as the New Age music started.  Five minutes later a pleasant female voice interrupted.  _"I want you to make sure you're in a comfortable position, one where you won't be interrupted, and where you won't fall asleep.  Do that now…"_

          "Hear that?" Harrison mumbled.

          "Hmmm."

          _"Now, I want you listen to the music as I count from ten down to one.  As I count, I want you to imagine that you're walking down a flight of stairs.  At the bottom is a long hallway, lined with doors.  Each door represents a life you have already lived…"_

          The music resumed, and Ironhorse allowed himself to relax, willing each of his muscles to surrender the tension usually housed there.  They did as the woman's voice returned.

          _"Ten..."_

          The colonel waited.  About thirty seconds later he heard, _"Nine…"_

          And so it went.  To his surprise, Paul could make out the stairs, old stone steps, cracked and partially grown over with vegetation.  They were wide and tall, and he paused on each one for a moment before stepping down to the next.

          _"Eight…"_

          He realized that the steps were carved out of huge boulders, tumbled into a gorge that grew wild.

          _"Seven…"_

          He passed the level of the ground, entering the Underworld.  He felt a shiver of fear.  For the first time he noticed the small river that ran along next to the steps.

          _"Six…"_

          The underworld was a place of spirits and monsters.  It was a place of chaos where the normal things and conditions of life was turned upside down.

          _"Five…"_

          The plants were gone now.  He almost turned around, but something glimmering further on caught his attention and he continued.

          _"Four…"_

          Reaching the next step, he realized that it was sunlight filtering into the cave, reflecting off crystals and water that created the lights.

          _"Three…"_

          It smelled warm and earthy, slightly humid, but comfortable.

          _"Two…"_

          He was a step away from the floor of a large cave that opened on a long tunnel.  In the tunnel were many wooden doors, set with metal and stones.

          _"One…"_

          He stepped into the cave, looking around at the complicated drawings that covered the walls, broken up here and there by clumps of crystals growing out of the stone.  He moved toward the entrance of the tunnel, drawn like some kind of magnet.  He paused there.

          _"Now, take your time.  Find a door that draws you and walk over to it…"_

          Each of the heavy wooden doors were carved and inlaid with metals or stone.  Some were complicated works of art, while others were minimalist.  One about a third of the way down on the right side caught his attention.  He walked down until he stood before it, marveling at the complexity of the design.  A Celtic knot of some kind he knew, the ends terminating as wolf heads.

_"Reach out and open the door…  You will step into a past life…  You will feel no fear or pain, simply observe what unfolds like it is a movie…"_

          Ironhorse reached out, gripping the brass knob, and pushed the door open, stepping through and into a small crannog.  Around him people moved about, going about the business of everyday life.

          _"I want you to focus on the time of your death in this life…  You will feel no pain, no fear…"_

          He walked to what he guessed was a house, ducking to gain entrance.  An old man lay on a sleeping pallet, a young man and woman tending to him.  They spoke in a language that Ironhorse did not understand, but he did.

          "Be strong, my children," the old man wheezed.  "I have taught you well.  The wars will end, but be wary of the new god that walks this land."

          "Father?" the young woman said softly, and Ironhorse blinked, seeing in her something that reminded him of Debi.

          "Yes, daughter?"

          "I love you."

          The old man smiled.  He was an old warrior, a man who had lived to see age defeat him when no adversary could.  The young man leaned over and took the girl's hand.  "We will stand against the Gaesatae."

          Norton, Ironhorse knew.  He wondered if Suzanne and Harrison were there was well, or if they had already died… or had yet to be born.

          The old man closed his eyes, and the colonel watched as he drew in his last breath, passing peacefully to the Otherworld.

          Paul blinked and found he was standing back outside the door.

          _"…pick another door now and enter…"_

          He looked, finding another that attracted his interest.  This had a shield carved into the door, decorated with a wolf paw-print, lightning bolt and snake.  He opened it and stepped in.

          All around him a fierce battle raged.  They were all Indians, and they were killing each other.  He heard a war cry, and spun to see a young woman, Ironhorse in this life, running for her life.  A warrior was riding down on her, and Paul recognized the danger if not the soul.

          There was a flash of movement and he looked, finding another woman, mounted on a wild-eyed pinto.  She held a war club and kicked her mount into a gallop, intercepting the warrior.  Swinging the club with all of her strength, she caught the young man behind the ear.  He slid off the horse, colliding with the young woman as she ran and tripping her.

          Paul watched the mounted woman, recognizing her as Suzanne, when she slid from the horse and ran to the girl's side.

          "Sister!" she cried, helping the girl to her feet.

          "Run!" the girl who was Ironhorse yelled, but it was too late, three warriors surrounded them on their ponies, arrows ready.  In seconds they were both dead.

He blinked and was back in the hall.

          _"…pick a last door…  I want you to focus on finding a moment of joyous pleasure…"_

          Shaking slightly, he looked for another door, deciding on one with a red swan set into it.  He opened it and walked into what looked like a Roman villa.  He looked around, and revised his opinion.  It looked Minoan.

          Two men entered, dressed in clean white pants and shirts that were loose.  They laughed, their arms over each others' shoulders – him and Blackwood.  It was so obvious, and yet the two young men looked nothing at all like he or Harrison.

          "We are going to dance well today, friend."

          "We are going to embarrass the gods!"

          Ironhorse followed them, passing through a column-supported arch.  He blinked back his surprise.  A crowd applauded as they two young men leaped lithely over a charging bull, twisting with the fluid motion of a gymnast.  Bull dancers.  He watched, amazing and thrilled at the same time.  The two men were creating living, breathing, moving art…

          He was in the hall, walking toward the stairs.  There was a momentary longing to return, to watch the young men longer, but he could hear the silent call home.

          _"…begin to come back up the stairs, back to consciousness… one… two…"_

          He started up the stairs feeling relaxed and comfortable.

          _"…three… four… five…"_

          Norton and Debi his children.

          _"…six… seven…"_

          Suzanne his sister.

          _"…eight… nine…"_

          And Harrison a good friend.  They were all his family, before and now.

          _"…ten.  Take a deep breath and open your eyes."_

          Ironhorse followed the voice's instruction, blinking.  He heard Harrison take a deep breath, then sit up and turn off the tape.  He waited until Blackwood stood before he sat up and stretched.

          "Well?" Harrison asked.

          "Well what, Doctor?" Paul asked.  "I enjoyed the nap."

          "You _slept_ through that?"

          Ironhorse's eyebrows rose.  "You have a problem with that?"

          Blackwood shook his head, his expression clearly stating that Ironhorse had no imagination whatsoever.  "No, I guess not.  By the way, I'm hungry."

          "Me, too."

          "Let's go out, get something different."

          Paul shrugged, tugging his boots back on.  "What did you have in mind?"

          "Oh, I don't know; how does something Mediterranean sound?"


End file.
